


Don't Worry 'Bout Me

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Danny and Mindy didn't have sex, and one time they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Worry 'Bout Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Mindy Project fic, I am obsessed. So there will probably be more. I hope you guys like it. There are no Spoilers in here unless you're not caught up :)

* * *

 

_Don't worry 'bout me_   
_I'll get along_   
_Forget about me_   
_Be happy, my love_   
  
_Let's say that our little show is over_   
_And so the story ends_   
_Why not call it a day the sensible way_   
_And still be friends_   
  


 

* * *

 

  _ **Duck**_

 

* * *

 

It’s pretty hot, the not-having-sex-thing. It’s especially hot because they’re in the on-call room at the hosital, it’s like baby boomer season so they’re working around the clock. It’s kind of like Grey’s Anatomy, season two.

 

“What? I don’t know what that means.” Danny says when she explains this to him, but he’s not really paying attention, because he’s doing this thing where he nuzzles her ear and kisses her neck.

 

Normally, she’d give him an entire briefing on the history of Derek and Meredith and on-call rooms, but he has this way of making her forget every single thing she knows about romantic comedies when he kisses her.

 

She rakes her nails over his back, underneath his scrub shirt and he groans, grinding a little, and sweet lord, she may be going blind.

 

Danny grabs her hands and pins them above her head. The way he’s looking at her, all breathless and like he wants to devour her, makes Mindy wonder why the hell she wants to take it slow.

 

“Don’t do that,” he says, all gruff-like and moody. “If you want to keep kissing and nothing else, you can’t do things like that. Okay?”

 

“Shut up. Just kiss me.”

 

But he pulls back, gets somber for a little bit. “I’m serious.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

The thing about Mindy and Danny being ‘Mindy And Danny’ is that, it sometimes takes them both by surprise just how intense it is between them. It gets serious pretty quickly, and the room gets a little foggy and warm. And so, so quiet. He lets go of her hands in favor of touching her face, running his thumb over the apple of her cheek, smiling that crooked smile of his. He looks at her as if she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. It’s overwhelming, because she isn’t sure she’s ever been the center of someone’s universe this way. And she isn’t sure how long she’s been the center of Danny’s universe. And how has she not noticed?

 

“Just come here.”

 

He kisses her; he never would have guessed how much he thoroughly enjoys kissing her. She does it again, rakes her nails over his back and shoulder blades. His hand lingers just under the hem of her shirt, his fingertips grazing her abdomen until she sighs and wiggles under him and he slides his palm over her ribcage. His stomach is in knots, like it was the first time he felt up a girl. She sighs against his lips and arcs into his hand and that’s all the permission he needs to palm her breast. She lets out a tiny moan that he feels roll down his spine. She begins to push his shirt upwards, and nearly gets it off when his pager goes off.

 

“Are you kidding me?” She complains up at the ceiling.

 

He drops his head against her shoulder and groans. “Damn it.”

 

She kisses his shoulder and hums a little as she does it. It’s purely an affectionate act, something she does all the time, and Danny happens to live for it. He can’t imagine he ever lived without it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  _ **Duck**_

 

* * *

 

 

He lets her go. Or leaves her. Really pushes himself to do it because it’s the most difficult thing he’s done since sending Ritchie off to college. There is no room for Italian pride. She cries, and he cries, and he knows it’s the right thing to do, for Mindy.

 

Things are not the same after. They’re clumsy and awkward around each other, pussyfooting around one another like colleagues, whatever remains of their friendship becoming more and more easy to sweep out the door with every day that passes, disintegrating it.

 

Danny is ready to lose it, when one night, she calls him.

 

“You left a bunch of your stuff at my place, do you think you can come by and pick them up?”

 

She’s so casual about it, nearly cold and it’s not like he can blame her so he politely agrees to come by Saturday morning, ignoring the way he has to keep himself from smiling at the mere sound of her voice on the phone.

 

It’s amazing how quickly he made himself so comfortable around her things in the brief time they were together. It seems like they were together years. In, both the best, and worst ways possible. She hands him a medium sized box of his things; a sweater, a pair of scrub pants, a half empty pack of cigarettes, two pairs of socks and a Bruce Springsteen CD.

 

They hug. He’s only reassuring her, or maybe she’s reassuring him. The thing is, somewhere, the platonic thing of it goes wrong and they’re kissing. It’s this slow, intense, desperate type of kiss. He holds her face in his hands, while she grips his jacket tightly at the sides.

 

When he kisses her neck, she sighs, and she’s so warm, so responsive to him she’s almost embarrassed by it, but not quite. He’s so gentle with her when he touches her, that she begins to cry, and begs him to leave.

 

They don’t really speak for a couple of weeks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_**Duck**_  

 

 

* * *

 

No one can say they don’t try to make the friendship thing work. And he appreciates that Mindy tries, because he needs her more than she needs him, he’s sure of it. So when she asks him to lunch one Monday, he jumps at the chance.

 

It’s weird at first. Conversation doesn’t flow as easily, and there is dead air every once in a while.

 

The waiter is rude, chewing gum and his shirt isn’t tucked in. Danny grumbles about the fact, complains incessantly for five or ten minutes about the declining values of society, and when he’s done, she’s laughing and calling him an old man. It feels like old times.

 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still miss her.  And that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still shiver when he touches the small of her back as they exit the restaurant and then gently holds her arm as they cross the street.

 

He walks her to her office, for reasons neither thinks about or examines, he closes the door even as they laugh about something that isn’t important. She gets out of her coat as he locks the door.

 

She’s sat stride him and his hands are well on their way up her thighs. She scoots further down and grinds down a little. He groans and she smiles against his neck before she leaves open-mouthed kisses there. It all feels fine. Like it it’s two months earlier and this should be happening. They are being completely stupid.

 

“Doctor Lahiri?” Betsy calls with a short little knock. “Your two o’clock is here.”

 

“Damn it,” She curses under her breath, then, carefully climbs off of his lap. She runs a hand through her hair, runs her palms down the front of her dress, and when she turns to look at Danny, it’s clear to both of them that this was a bad idea and that it won’t be addressed

 

 

 

* * *

 

  _ **Duck**_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Danny is still convinced he’s poison oak to Mindy, and Mindy just cannot argue that again, so they pretend nothing happened in Mindy’s office and make an unspoken vow to simply let things go.

 

Mindy is dating someone, Danny is dating whomever looks at him sideways, and they both pretend they’re happy about this when they run into each other, with their respective dates, at a bar and decide to take the pretending to another level by agreeing to all hang out together. All. Four. Of them.

 

Mindy’s date is kind of handsy, which is tacky, really. Not to mention that with every round, Mindy becomes a little more loose and that in itself is plain unladylike. So, Danny drinks, shamelessly kisses and gropes his date, and glares in Mindy’s direction whenever he’s going to fling a dart.

 

She can feel him staring at her, can feel his eyes on her just as if she were burning. She can feel him judging her, counter attacking by hanging from his stupid girlfriend like she’s made out of licorice or something.

 

Yes, she’s jealous, and he’s jealous. Because it’s one thing hearing about each other’s disastrous dates, it’s another thing to actually see it.

 

It takes one last, particularly accusatory glare to pass between them. She excuses herself to use the bathroom, and he makes an excuse of getting the next round.

 

He is three feet behind her, and her breath hitches when she pushes the ladies room door open and realizes what’s about to happen.

 

Danny catches the door before it closes, slamming it shut behind him before flicking the small metal lock into place.

 

He’s got the multiple crease of death on his forehead, he’s sweaty, angry and the veins of his forearms are pretty much bulging. Mindy doesn’t mind it, even in the slightest, when he shoves her against the wall with the questionable stain—the bigger stain anyway. His hands are brusque on her, grabbing every place the other man touched in his presence, and his kisses are punishing. Not that she’s not giving every bit as well as she takes. She didn’t miss the way that girl touched his hand briefly, or the way she kissed his neck chastely—her own favorite pastime was always kissing Danny’s neck.

 

She bites him where the other girl kissed him and he lets out a guttural groan, pressing himself harder against her so she can feel just how badly he wants her. When he grabs her ass—really grabs it—she gasps against his mouth, and actually smirks. It’s hot in the restroom, and they’re both panting as she undoes his pants and he’s shoving his hands up her dress for her underwear, which gets lost somewhere under the sink when she kicks it off her right ankle.

 

It’s frantic, and hot, and when he touches her, softly because he can’t help it, it dawns on him that this is the first time he’s touching her so callously. And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. This isn’t how he pictured it all happening with Mindy. Not in some dirty bathroom at a bar while they’re both with other people. He doesn’t say that when he pulls his hand out from between her legs. Mostly because his body is straining against his self control like having one foot on the gas and one on the brake. He’s breathing so heavily, he can’t speak, and so is she. Except, she’s mostly just angry with him.

 

“I can’t, Min—I can’t.” he offers lamely, shaking his head as he paces around the small room like a caged animal.

 

She glares at him for minute. How dare he follow her into the bathroom, how dare he even look at her, put his hands on her and then leave her high and dry. She wants to scream, she wants to cry.

 

She slaps him, hard, so hard that she feels the sting long after she leaves him in the bathroom and leaves the bar without so much as a glance at her date. She can’t think, can’t process what just happened—or almost happened. The driver offers her a tissue when she begins to blatantly sob in the cab.

 

Danny doesn’t wait for the night to pass them by. He doesn’t even wait an hour. He ditches his date, pays the tab and picks up flowers on the way. An embarrassingly large bouquet of wild flowers he hopes will distract Mindy long enough for him to get a word in.

 

He touches his cheek, where she hit him, and he has to laugh. He needed that somehow. He knows it well. But now he knows, he knows to go against the current that is his stupid fear and spend the rest of his life making it up to that woman, because he ‘needs’ her in his life, direly.

 

His heart swells as he gets closer to her building, the fear and anxiety bubbling up in his stomach, in a nice little cocktail of self doubt, but it’s nothing compared to his ardent need for her, in every aspect.

 

He looks at the flowers, the yellows, pinks and blues like a palette of Mindy’s wardrobe, and he knows he loves her.

 

 

* * *

 

**_Goose_ **

 

* * *

 

 

 She doesn’t want to see him. She doesn’t want to talk to him, and she doesn’t want to see him.

 

“Mindy, come on, let me up, please!”

 

The intercom is quiet on the other end for a second before, “If anyone is out there, I don’t know this man, he is a sexual predator, feel free to call the police. Go away, strange man!”

 

He smiles awkwardly at an elderly couple passing by. Chuckling, he says, “She’s kidding. Would a sexual predator bring flowers? Come on.” The couple eyes him strangely still.

 

He opens his mouth to offer an explanation but before he can say anything, one of Mindy’s neighbor’s exits the building and Danny catches the door in time.

 

She isn’t very impressed with his James Bond like skills, getting past the door like that.

 

“Danny, you are such a stalker! Go away!” She yells from inside.

 

He’s tired of knocking and his voice is hoarse from yelling back at her. The flowers hang at his side as he leans against her doorframe with the other arm, his head hung in near defeat. “Mindy, open the door. Please. I love you.” The confession stumbles out of him, clumsily rolling off his tongue and falling on her doorstep without him even realizing what he’s said.

 

It’s quiet for a while. Then, he hears the lock turn before the knob does. When she appears, he has to catch his breath. It feels like he’s seeing her for the first time.

 

She feels like she may actually throw up if she actually imagined what she thinks she just heard him say out of shear pathetic spinster desperation.

 

“Hi,” He says, and his entire stupid face lights up.

 

“What did you just say to me?” She demands.

 

He blinks. Oh right, he just said that. “I’m in love with you—Mindy.”

 

Her eyes fall on the flowers. It’s the biggest bouquet she’s ever seen in her life and she can smell it all the way over here.

 

“Are you FUCKING kidding me?”

 

He laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but a chuckle comes out anyway. She glares at him.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you know it makes me laugh when you drop F Bombs.”

 

“There is nothing funny about this, Danny. NOTHING.” She begins to tear up. Nothing sobers Danny up quicker than an upset Mindy Lahiri.

 

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry.” He holds the flowers out to her, pulls them back, attempts to touch her cheek, pulls his hand back and finally hands her the bouquet, which she reluctantly takes. He sighs, and tentatively brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t have an excuse for the way I treated you. I was an idiot. I hurt you and I’ll never forgive myself for it. And if you want me to go, I’ll go, but I just miss you so much.”

 

He’s gotten distracted trying to reassure her and he has to remind himself he probably shouldn’t touch her this much, so his hands fall away. She seems to have calmed down.

 

“I miss you, too.”

 

“Really?”

 

“But you were still a jerk—“ she points a finger at him as he moves toward her kitchen and he follows.

 

“I was. I was a jerk.”

 

“—and a coward,” as she grabs an empty vase.

 

“I—yes. I was.”

 

“Cruel,” Filling the case with water.

 

“Cruel, yes.”

 

“And a heartless asshole.”

 

He sighs, watching her set the flowers down on the kitchen counter before she raises her stare up at him. She lifts her brow expectedly.

 

“I was a heartless asshole, yes.”

 

“I’m glad we agree.”

 

After a long staring contest that Mindy wins, Danny says, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Min.”

 

He looks a like a child asking for forgiveness, and miserable, if they’re both being honest. Damn it, she’s such a weak loser for that face, and for classic lines that don’t sound like lines coming from him.

 

“I know that I said it was best to end this, but uh—“ he fidgets with a dishtowel and his voice is all gruff-like, and his eyes are glassy like they were that night. “—I’ve been a mess. I don’t do well—not talking to you every day, not seeing you. I can’t do it, you know?”

 

“And the bar—“

 

“Yes, the bar, I’m sorry about the bar, I shouldn’t have done that—“

 

“I love you, too.”

 

He stops talking. Not because he wants to, really, he’s trying to say something substantial, he’s opening and closing his mouth, he’s got the hand gestures and ‘some’ sounds are coming out, he just can’t figure out a way to put words together. This goes on for an embarrassingly long time before, finally, he slaps Mindy’s counter with both hands and just barely tries to fight the smirk on his face as he eventually says, “Really?”

 

She doesn’t seem to be as happy as he is exuberantly displaying. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not still mad at you, Danny! You hurt me—in a way I didn’t think I could ever hurt. Never. And now you’re here, with flowers and ‘I love yous’ and I have to pretend that everything is fine? That I didn’t gain two pounds from eating cookie dough with my wine every night since you dumped me?”

 

“Mindy—“

 

“Okay, it was four pounds.”

 

“I just—“

 

“Okay, fine, it was six pounds! SIX pounds, Danny!”

 

“For the record, I think you look great.”

 

“Oh, I look ‘great’, do I? Yeah, I bet I look great because I’m dating somebody else.”

 

“No, that’s not it!”

 

“Really? You didn’t follow me into the bathroom because you were JEALOUS? Huh, Danny?”

 

“You didn’t lead me into the bathroom because YOU were jealous?”

 

She glares at him again, really glares, it’s her mean glare, the one she uses on Morgan when he gets her coffee order wrong.

 

Danny folds. He leans into the counter, his head hanging forward with a groan until his chin is touching his chest. She would smile if she weren’t so dead set on still being mad at him.

 

“Mindy—“ He says her name at the floor. He’s growing frustrated. She’s missed that. “—I came here, because, I realized that you’re it. This is it. I want to be with you, and I could have waited until tomorrow, yes, but I want to be with you NOW. Because—“ He sighs, cranes his neck and mumbles something at Mindy’s ceiling before he looks at her again, “—because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

 

She should be horrified, disgusted by someone literally quoting Billy Crystal in the single best Romantic Comedy of the last fifty years. And mind you, no one, but NO ONE, should ever recycle When Harry Met Sally dialogue with style.

 

“Danny, did you just—“

 

“Did I just what?”

 

“You just quoted When Harry Met Sally!”

 

“I did not!”

 

“Yes, you did!” She laughs. She feels warm, and happy, and gross. She’s probably blushing, too.

 

He laughs, too, because he can’t help but respond in kind every time she does. “Okay, maybe it was on last night while I was fixing the leaky pipe in my kitchen. It must have been on in the background or something—white noise.”

 

“Right. White noise.”

 

There is an extended silence, and for a moment, he fears he might have to leave her apartment tonight, unforgiven and alone. He’ll have to move out of the city, possibly the state, and live alone in a cabin somewhere.

 

And then, because she can’t hold it in any longer, she says, “It worked.”

 

He exhales, and with that, most of the tension seems to roll off his shoulders. “It did?”

 

“It was mostly the flowers, but yeah. You know what would have helped your case?”

 

“Wine and cookie dough?”

 

“Not going to lie, yes.”

 

They chuckle awkwardly and spend the better part of two to three minutes avoiding eye contact and fidgeting nervously.

 

“So—“ Danny begins, anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “—what now?”

 

“Well, I should actually call my date and apologize.”

 

“Right”

 

“And tell him I can’t see him anymore.”

 

When they look at each other next, it feels okay. It doesn’t feel completely repaired, but it feels okay. And that’s more than he can hope for at the moment. He smiles openly at her, keeping his feet grounded where they are, because he doesn’t want to invade her personal space until she’s ready.

 

“Okay. You should call him, then.”

 

“Okay,” she says, then nods in direction of her living room, “Make yourself at home, I’ll only be a minute.”

 

He watches her until she’s closed her bedroom door behind her, and when she’s disappeared, he unknowingly clutches his chest, heaving a sigh of relief—disbelief, whatever—because he really can’t believe his luck. He feels exhausted and happy, and comfortable. He loves being amongst her things. It’s a feeling he’s always enjoyed, being completely overwhelmed by everything Mindy Lahiri.

 

He flops down on her couch; resting his head back and closing his eyes, allowing the entirety of the night really envelop him. They’ll probably have to talk when she comes back, and he has no idea what he’s going to say, he’ll just have to remember agree to anything and everything she says.

 

She doesn’t return in a minute, or five, or ten. After fifteen, he falls asleep.

 

She finds him stretched out on her couch with one arm draped over his belly, and one folded under his head. She shakes her head and clicks her tongue to her teeth, “Danny, Danny, Danny, you handsome bastard.” It didn’t take long to end whatever smidge of a relationship she had not even started with what’s-his-face, it took all of thirty seconds in fact, but she needed to call Gwen really quickly and tell her everything that happened as fast as her lips would allow.

 

Gwen is delighted, and that’s enough to really convince Mindy that this is the right thing for her, and for Danny. He has that crease on his forehead even when he’s sleeping, probably complaining about something internally.

 

She toes off her shoes and walks around the couch to kneel on the floor beside him. She touches his hair, indulging in a resting Castellano for just a second before she touches his shoulder in order to wake him, “Danny? Wake up.”

 

She’s gentle about it, but he jerks himself awake anyway and it makes her laugh.

 

“It’s just me.”

 

“Oh, hi—“

 

“Hi. No, no—“ she stops him from getting up with a hand on his chest, “—do you mind if I…”

 

“No, no, I don’t mind, come here.”

 

She fits so perfectly against him, snaking a leg between both of his and wrapping an arm around his middle, she snuggles against him, under his arm, and rests her head so she can hear his heart beat.

 

“Are you still scared?” She asks him after a moment.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What!” She lifts her head off his chest and stares incredulously. “Are you freaking kidding me, Danny?”

 

“Not really scared, just—excited.” Her features soften under his gaze.

 

He brushes her hair back gently and touches her cheek, while his eyes are roaming over every inch of her face, like he’s really, really missed her. She’s absolute mush.

 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” He tells her earnestly, his eyes crinkling at the corners when his smile broadens, “I love you. You know?”

 

Leaning forward, she kisses him softly, her lips lingering there momentarily, until someone inhales, and someone else exhales, and suddenly they’re really going for it. It’s not sad or desperate like the other times, it’s hot and intense like in the beginning, except, more so because of the stupid break they took between then and now.

 

But, now is so much better.

 

His fingers skim over her waist and over her ass. Man, she is never going to get used to his obsession with her ass. In a good way.

 

She kisses his neck, it’s hers now, she decides, and breathes him in. Aftershave and cigarettes. She makes a mental note to scold him about the smoking later. Much later. Way, way later because he’s beginning to wiggle under her as he really grabs her ass now.

 

They get caught up in the moment—the very horny moment—and one things leads to another, and—they roll right off the couch and onto the floor.

 

“Owe! Danny!”

 

“Owe!”

 

“Why does this keep happening!”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Danny, it’s not funny!” But they’re both laughing.

 

Even as he checks her head for wounds, he chuckles helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s okay.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah.” She works up a frown she knows is pretty adorable, and then shrugs her shoulders as best she can, sprawled on the floor like she is. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

 

“God, you’re beautiful.”

 

He blurts it out, he isn’t even fully aware he’s said it, that seems to be happening a lot lately. He’s just looking at her so intensely that she feels the energy shoot out through her hair.

 

They’re kissing again. She’s really missed kissing Danny. She’s had some good kissers before but Danny is another story. He kisses her like he’s never going to do it again, like her tongue is made of watermelon Jolly Ranchers or something. It makes her feel tingly and shivery, especially when he kisses her behind her ear.

 

She sighs, cradling the back of his neck as he goes, lower, over her chest. She can feel the heat of his mouth through the fabric of her dress as he concentrates on each of her breasts with equal attention, attention that makes her head swim.

 

He kisses her rib cage and she watches his head disappear. She knows where this is going, so she helps, pulling her dress up and spreading her legs a little wider to better accommodate him. They haven’t done this before, she realizes, her heart begins to race, and she’s wetter than she was a fraction of a second ago, if that’s even possible.

 

Speaking of possible, there is a such a thing as ‘better than Danny Castellano kisses’, and that is—what he’s doing with his tongue now.

 

He starts off slowly, testing every single way to lick that he can think off, deciding on whether or not to keep doing it by the sounds she’s making. Unintelligible sounds, because as much as she would like to articulate just what to do and how to do it, she is not physically able to. And she doesn’t need to.

 

“Oh, god—Danny…” Is the one—sort of—sentence she lets out at some point, and that’s when he gets greedy.

 

He grips her hips tightly, digging his fingers into her skin to pull her forward with a low growl that reverberates all the way inside her. She gasps and lifts her head. Her dress is well past her hips now and she can see his head, bobbing and moving between her legs, that and the way he laps around her clitoris with the flat of his tongue make her believe her spine may actually be melting. She drops her head against the floor, hard enough that it should hurt, but not hard enough that it should matter. “Oh—fuck…” She groans.

 

Her hand is fisted in his hair when she comes, tugging and then pulling when he doesn’t stop. She’s moaning and incoherently calling his name, gasping and thrusting against his mouth. He smiles against her before he pushes a finger inside her, coaxing the evidence of her orgasm out and around, and then pushes it in, knuckle deep, to curl it upward against the spot he hopes does the trick. It does. Her back arches, she stills and then shudders. There isn’t a single sound coming out of her now, just that of her breathing, harsh and bated. He draws out her release for as long as possible, waiting until she’s practically limp before kissing his way up her torso.

 

She’s got her hand over her eyes, and her face tilted to the side.

 

This is the best thing he’s ever seen.

 

“Hey,” He says, kissing her cheek, to which he receives only a grunt in response, “You okay?”

 

“Mm-my god, Danny. If I had know you could do that—we would have done this a very long time ago.”

 

He’s smiling that smugly, and he is pretty irresistible. It occurs to her now that it may be harder for her to win fights in the future if she even thinks about the things the man can do with his mouth. “Damn it,” She thinks aloud before she lunges forward and thoroughly kisses him. She’s never been the biggest fan of frenching after a guy’s gone down on her, but this is Danny, and she doesn’t really care, it’s actually really great, and he must think so as well because he embraces the whole thing. She straddles him and he sits up to kiss her.

 

She works his pants open in an impressively agile speed, not leaving him much time to do anything except let her stroke him as she kisses him.

 

It isn’t that he doesn’t like where this is going, he likes it very, very much, but he would LOVE to be inside her, because he’s been thinking about it for longer than he’d care to admit.

 

There’s some fumbling around for the condom in his pocket, some bickering disguised as inquiry as to why exactly Danny carries a condom and how old is said condom? Kissing her seems to do the trick at some point.

 

The moment it happens, they’re both very still, they sheer shock of it all finally settling in. She’s pressed tightly against his chest. She’s straddling him on the floor, her dress is technically still on—all in all, it’s not as glamorous or lit properly, the way she imagined they’re first time having sex would be, but it’s the most romantic sex either she or Danny has ever had.

 

It’s intense, he keeps looking at her, and usually, Mindy isn’t really into that, but she can’t seem to look away. It’s serious business.

 

She really wishes they had paused for a minute to take off her dress, because orgasms are so much better when everyone is naked.

 

He grips her hips firmly as she begins to thrust down firmly, taking the in the length of him, little by little as she lifts her hips, then drives downward. She braces herself with one hand on his shoulder and the other in his short hair. The hardwood floor is beginning to chafe her knees, but he feels so good, there is no way she’s going to stop now. It doesn’t get frantic, or out of control, it’s this deliciously steady pace they both struggle to keep, for the sake of savoring the moment. It’s all-quiet, save for the sound of their collective panting, until the bubbling begins again low in her belly and spine, and she gasps. He finds her mouth just as she comes, sighing and moaning against his lips before he allows himself his own release.

 

She’s shivering when it’s over, all tingly-like and happy. Even though Danny’s sweated through his shirt and it should be kind of gross, but it’s not, it’s really not.

 

“Are you okay? Are you cold?” He asks her, kissing her shoulder as she turns her cheek against his.

 

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I just—sorry, I’m going to lay down.”

 

By the time she’s fixed her dress, grabbed a cushion off the couch to hug and is lying on her belly, Danny has disposed of the used condom, buttoned up his pants and—gotten rid of his shirt.

 

She watches him settle down beside her, his ridiculous muscles all but protruding when he uses his arms as a pillow.

 

“Man—“ She says, her voice a little husky, “—you are a show-off!”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You! Just—there, all manly and sweaty and muscley. It’s not even fair how good you look after sex.”

 

“Yeah? Well, you’re not looking at what I’m looking at.”

 

She rolls her eyes, pretending to be annoyed even as she blushes. “God…”

 

“What?”

 

“I can’t believe we just had sex for the first time, on my living room floor.”

 

“We’ve had sex before.”

 

“Uh—when?”

 

“You know, all those other times—“

 

“That wasn’t sex, Danny. Oh, my god, do you need me to explain to you what sex is? No ‘tration, bro.”

 

“What?” He has never heard that term in his life until Ray-Ron, and suddenly everyone’s saying it. “No! You’re a doctor, what would you tell a preteen that walked into your office, asking you what counts as sex? You don’t think all that other stuff counts as sexual activity?”

 

She winces and lifts her head off the pillow, “Sexual activity? Are you serious?”

 

“What!”

 

“First of all, if a preteen walks into my office and asks me about sex, the first thing I’m going to do is tell him or her that holding hands constitutes as ‘sexual activity’, and then, I’m going to call his or her parents to tell them to enroll their twelve year old in some extracurricular activities like Play Production, or Modern Dance so he or she can learn about sex from his or her piers like a normal kid, because only nerds ask Doctors about sex, Danny. And nerds, my friend, don’t get laid.”

 

“Weren’t you a nerd?”

 

She gasps dramatically, her eyes still crinkled in a suppressed smile, “Ex-queeze me? I wasn’t a nerd, I was a hot intellectual.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

“I was! Picture Tyra Banks in glasses, but like—a few inches shorter.”

 

“Totally.”

 

“Danny, I really don’t appreciate you doubting my past hotness, I will have you know—“

 

She’s ranting animatedly and he can’t stop smiling because he’s really missed her. He turns onto his side and lifts his weight onto his elbow before reaching over for the zipper to her dress, which he pulls down swiftly.

 

“—Danny, what are you doing?”

 

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls the metal tongue all the way down to the small of her back, and then, with barely a pinch of his fingers, unclasps her bra. Just like that it falls open. And so does Mindy’s mouth. She looks at him, wide eyed and absolutely turned on.

 

“Danny!”

 

“I told you I could take a bra off like ‘that’. I’m telling you now, you’re better off not blindfolding me.”

 

“Oh, my god,” She whispers, and then pulls him forward for a heated kiss he doesn’t see coming, but appreciates very, very much.

 

“Min?”

 

“Yeah?” She replies, kissing the side of his neck. She really likes it there.

 

“You have bed, and I think we should use it.”

 

“Okay.”

 

They have a lot talk about, she still has some yelling in her, and he is willing to apologize some more, with pancakes. But these are things that can wait ‘til the morning. Because they have some catching up to do.

 

 


End file.
